One Song: book two in the one series

by Best, Victoria J.

  “Oh,” she said, pivoting away from me. I watched her walk to the fridge, pull it open and disappear behind it, then reappear with two little containers in her hand. “They were in the fridge.”

  “Thanks,” I said as I took them from her outstretched hand, followed by a sheepish smile.

  Jessica nodded and started to leave the room but stopped in the doorway and turned back to me. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again, waited a beat and then spoke.

  “I wasn’t going to say anything, but when my sister was pregnant, she had awful morning sickness so it’s pretty obvious what’s going on with you. I know we aren’t friends or even friendly, but if you need anything, let me know.”

  She didn’t wait for me to respond, simply turned away and vanished around the corner.

  I stood there in shock after she was gone, the small packets and croissant forgotten for a minute until my stomach let out an unladylike growl. If she knew, how many other people knew? I couldn’t risk people finding out by mistake because if they did, I couldn’t control the narrative. Getting ahead of the rumors and speculation was the best way to deal with it. I had to come up with a way to break it to the staff, after talking to my father, in a way that led to little questions. But how?

  * * *

  My intercom buzzed and I jumped, swiveling around so fast I felt dizzy for a second. Dad was here for dinner and I just finished setting up the dining room with the food I ordered. Butterflies assaulted my belly and I took a deep breath as I moseyed towards the door, in no hurry to break the news to him. I buzzed my dad in and stood by the door, stiff as I waited for him to knock. Though I knew it was coming, it startled me anyway and I stepped back from the door for a second before reaching for the handle to pull it open.

  “Hello, Natty. You look so pretty tonight,” my dad said as he strode over the threshold, stopping to peck me on the cheek.

  I willed the riot in my stomach to settle, taking another deep breath. This was my dad, my only parent, the man who raised me. He wouldn’t disown me or refuse to speak to me ever again. Right?

  Uncertainty made the wicked butterflies fly faster and I pressed a hand to my abdomen because the activity was making me nauseous.

  “Thank you, Daddy.” The childlike name slipped from my lips without intention.

  Dad narrowed his eyes at me but didn’t comment on it. I hadn’t called him Daddy since I was ten years old, but I suddenly felt like a lost little girl. It was no surprise the word slipped out without warning.

  “What are we having for dinner?” he asked as I took his jacket, and we made our way to the dining room to sit down.

  “Roast and potatoes.” Which I suddenly didn’t think I could stomach.

  “It smells wonderful.” Dad began to dig into his plate almost immediately though his eyes never left my face.

  He took a few bites, chewing slowly and deliberately before he set his fork and knife down and gave me a pointed look.

  “All right, I’ve given you enough time. What is this about?” Dad was never one to play games or mince words.

  I sighed, smoothing the skirt of my dress nervously. This was it. I had to tell him now so I could get my story straight for everyone else.

  “Dad, before I tell you anything, I want you to know that this wasn’t something I set out to do. And I hope you can keep an open mind.”

  I paused, because the damn butterflies started up again.

  “What is it, Natty. You’re scaring me.” My dad leaned forward, dropping the napkin he had been gripping and taking my hands.

  Tears clogged my throat at the gesture, and I swallowed back the lump in my throat, clearing it before I spoke again.

  “I’m pregnant.” I spit the words out quickly, as if they left a bad taste in my mouth.

  Shock, followed my anger and something else, flashed across my dad’s face. It turned red and he closed his eyes a beat before opening them and focusing their blue depths on my hazel ones.

  “Natalie, how did this happen?” His voice was deeper, angrier than it had been seconds before.

  “I, uh, I didn’t mean for it to happen. It wasn’t planned. I saw Jackson at his club, and we started reminiscing about the happy times we had together.” I swallowed thickly around the lies. “And one thing led to another, and…” I let my voice trail off, not intending to give my father any more information about my sex life than he needed to have. I waved a hand flippantly to indicate the pregnancy resulted from my night with Jackson.

  My father closed his eyes again for longer this time, taking a deep breath and holding it for a minute. I could tell he was trying to compose himself so he didn’t say something he’d regret. I knew the feeling.

  “Natalie Jane, I have tried and tried with you, and I thought that we were finally in a place where I didn’t have to clean up your messes. Yet here we are, again.”

  His words cut deep, penetrating my heart and making me short of breath for a minute. My father had never told me outright he was disappointed in me, but I guess there was a first time for everything. He was angry when my marriage to Jackson fell apart. He was pissed when I tried to switch my major in college, until I switched it back. And he tolerated when I refused his help with graduate school, instead getting into a lesser-known school on my own so I could pay my own way. But this may finally be the straw that broke the camel’s back. This may make him finally wash his hands of me.

  “Dad, please, I know this isn’t ideal, but a lot of women get pregnant without being married, and go on to be successful and famous, and it doesn’t affect them at all in the long run.”

  “You aren’t a lot of women, Natalie. You are Natalie Livingston, heir to the biggest real estate and public relations businesses in the city. What will everyone say when the media gets a hold of this?”

  He put his head in his hands, pushing away the plate in front of him, the meat now cold and unappetizing.

  “I don’t care what they say. Technically, Jackson and I are still married anyway. I can petition for support, if that’s what you’re worried about. I can make him be a part of the baby’s life. We can spin it. Pretend like we were on the cusp of reconciliation when I fell pregnant. You’re in PR. We both are. We can make this work, Dad.”

  Dad let out another loud sigh and looked at me. Some of the fight had left his face, and I could tell he was becoming resigned to my ideals about the whole thing.

  “I will give you a month to work this out the way that you have explained. If you can’t get yourself together by then, I’ll have no choice but to make you step down from the company and resume the CEO position myself.”

  Dread made my stomach drop as the implications of what he was saying sank in. He wanted me to leave the company if I couldn’t figure out everything with Jackson. He was going to kick me out of a company I had been running for over a year, studied my whole life to take over, and walk away with nothing to show. How was I going to do this?

  “Two months. I need two months. Please.” Even two months wasn’t enough, but I needed more time than he was giving me.

  I watched his face and I could see the wheels turning as he thought about what I said. He had to agree because if he took this away from me, what would I have left?

  “Fine. Two months. Work it out, Natalie or I’ll work it out for you.”

  He pushed back from the table, dinner forgotten, and stomped to the door. I followed him, my head drooping like a scolded dog. My dad left without a hug or a kiss, or even a goodbye. His actions and words cut me deep, in a way I wasn’t prepared for. My father, the man who raised me in his own image, was ashamed of what I had become when my whole life I tried to be the person he wanted me to be. What would I do in two months if I couldn’t convince Jackson Radcliffe, and the world, that this baby was his?

  8

  Rhys

  New York City. Madison Square Garden.

  Seeing the words on our itinerary for the East Coast leg of this second round of tour dates made me cringe. Na
talie’s face popped into my head—the look she gave me just before she ran away after the most intense kiss I ever had, the way she moaned and writhed against me in that alley. It was like sweet torture to remember her and our brief time together because I knew she didn’t want to see me again. That much she made evident the last time I saw her, two months ago. I left New York pissed, dejected, and vowing that I would never try to contact her again.

  “Why are we going back to New York, New Jersey, and Philadelphia again?” I asked Nathan as we packed up our instruments after the recording session we finally finished.

  We were recording an album, one our publicist thought would actually sell this time. It took us two months to finish writing new songs and then record them. This was our second-to-last session before we were done. Recording wasn’t my favorite part of being a musician, but I knew if we wanted to keep going on tour, we needed people to keep up the interest in our music. What I didn’t know was why we were going on tour again for the album so soon after wrapping our previous tour.

  “The publicist thinks that going on tour soon after the album drops and after our opening for Imagine Dragons this past summer, we will really build our fan base.” Nathan didn’t look at me as he spoke because he was fiddling with his bass guitar.

  “Oh,” was the only answer I could come up with because my thoughts had returned to Natalie.

  Manhattan was a big city and being there didn’t necessarily mean I would see her again. But why did I feel like returning to New York City right now was going to change everything forever?

  * * *

  Two weeks later, we packed our bags and tour bus to set off across the country to our first tour date at Madison Square Garden. My favorite part of touring, next to being on stage, was traveling around the country. Being stuck in a bus with three other guys wasn’t so much fun all the time, but getting to see a lot of the country though the windows of said bus was a nice way to travel. It beat being stuck in a stuffy office, day in and day out, for the rest of my life.

  It took us almost a week to get to Manhattan because we didn’t like to push the driver past his limits, and we wanted to do some sightseeing before the more grueling part of the tour took off. Our first show at the Garden wasn’t until the first week in November, and we allotted enough time to stop more than we usually would. This was by far the most relaxing of the tours we did in the last few years and by the time we reached New York, I almost forgot about Natalie. Almost.

  Because of being in the city, we stayed at a hotel instead of on the bus when we came to Manhattan. I was ready by that point to sleep in a real bed, have a real shower, and not share a bus with three other guys. Our hotel wasn’t overly fancy—we weren’t the Rolling Stones, after all—but it had clean sheets, a shower, and room service, everything I looked for. The guys and I parted ways after checking in, carrying our respective bags to our own rooms to have some downtime, before meeting with our new publicist the next morning and before sound checks the following evening. I was sure the guys were heading out to a club or something.

  Despite my best efforts, Natalie was the only thing I could think about after showering, and while I waited for my food to come to the door, I couldn’t resist picking up my phone and scrolling to her number. What the hell was wrong with me, all of a sudden? Somehow, a great fuck in an alley turned into an all-out obsession for me and I felt foolish for all the time I spent thinking about Natalie Livingston over the last few months. Especially since it appeared she didn’t give a flying fuck about me.

  Sighing, I tossed my phone on the bed just as a knock sounded on my hotel room door. My food was here, just in time to eat and cloud my brain with a few small bottles from the mini bar before passing out.

  * * *

  My head pounded with the remnants of a vodka hangover as we got out of the Uber SUV and approached the high rise where we were supposed to meet our new publicist. I squinted against the bright November sun, wishing I had stuck to only two of the mini bottles and didn’t down that fifth one. They did the trick, I was so wasted I forgot about Natalie. Until this morning, when I had the hangover from hell because I couldn’t get this woman out of my head. Taking a deep breath, I pushed my sunglasses firmly up against my face and followed the rest of my bandmates into the elevator. I was reduced to wearing sunglasses inside and felt like a fool, for many reasons.

  “You all right, man?” Nathan asked as he hit the button for the tenth floor.

  I nodded, wincing at the pain that sliced through my head when I did.

  “Too much to drink?” Todd asked with a smirk.

  “Something like that.” Fuck. It even hurt to talk.

  My friends laughed and I sneered at them. I wasn’t getting any sympathy from them.

  “You should have come out with us if you wanted to party.” Nathan nudged me hard with his elbow and I cringed at the way my brain felt like it was sloshing in my head from the movement.

  “I just want to get this meeting over with, so I can sleep it off before sound check tonight.”

  They all chuckled at me again as the elevator arrived at our destined floor. The reception area was bright white, almost sterile, making me squint again as I pulled off my sunglasses and hung them from the front of my shirt. A petite brunette sat behind a large white desk in front of a set of double glass doors. She stood as we approached.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. How can I help you?” she asked with a smile.

  The guys all looked at me, but I shook my head gently. This wasn’t my ballgame. Todd set up the meeting, and the new publicist—he should deal with them.

  “We have a meeting with Miss Livingston at nine,” Todd said.

  I whipped my head up at the name, so quickly I almost passed out from the searing pain over my eyes that followed. Miss Livingston? Where the fuck were we? Suddenly, I regretted drinking last night because my mind was so clouded with this hangover, I hadn’t even paid too much attention to any of the details.

  “Of course,” the receptionist said with another smile, waving a hand for us to follow her through the double doors behind her. “Miss Livingston is waiting for you in the conference room with her associates. I’m Jessica, if any of you need anything.”

  Panic gripped my chest. What were the odds that, of all the publicists in Manhattan, we had to have an appointment with the one I never wanted to see again because she humiliated me?

  “You never told me the new publicist was Natalie Livingston,” I hissed at Todd as we followed Jessica down the hall towards another set of glass double doors.

  “I think I did,” Todd said, giving me a look like a I was the biggest idiot on the planet. “We talked about all of this last week when we were in Chicago. Right?” He looked at the other two for clarification.

  Nathan and Rob nodded, also looking at me like I’d sprouted a third eye.

  “Dude, we had a whole meeting about it. Were you sleeping?” Nathan said, as Jessica pulled open the door and we followed her into the room.

  I couldn’t answer him, or even think about what I should say to his question because the second I walked into the room, my eyes found Natalie and all thought was obliterated. She was seated at the head of the long conference table, flanked on the right by an older man in his sixties, who could only be her father because of how much she resembled him. On her other side sat a younger woman and man, both with notepads and anxious looks on their faces. They must be interns.

  Words were exchanged as we made our way around the table, but I didn’t hear any of them. I only saw Natalie, our eyes meeting as she stood. Her hazel ones went wide when she saw me, but she recovered quickly and hid any knowledge of who I was before anyone else noticed.

  There was no air left in the room as we held each other’s gaze. Activity was going on around us, but I didn’t notice it. The only thing I saw was Natalie, her raven-colored hair pulled back into a slick ponytail and emotions veiled behind her hazel eyes. But I could tell she was shaken just as I was, unable to look a
way from me the same way I couldn’t take my eyes off her. A current ran between us, like a live wire, palpable in the spacious conference room.

  “Rhys?” Todd was saying my name to get my attention. I wasn’t sure how many times he had said it before I heard him.

  Christopher Livingston was standing in front of my bandmates, his hand outstretched for me to shake, and I was standing there, gawking at his daughter with my mouth open.

  I shook my head a little to snap out of the trance I was in, then turned to him. “Uh, nice to meet you,” I croaked, shaking his hand. “I’m Rhys Beckett.”

  “Hello, Mr. Beckett.” We released hands and I found my seat, as far away from Natalie as I could get without sitting at the opposite heads of the table.

  “Natalie, care to take it from here?” Mr. Livingston asked her.

  “Um, yeah. Sure. I’m Natalie Livingston.” She shook it off just as I had, clearing her throat before she continued. “I spoke with Todd on the phone last month about this meeting, and how we could get your band’s name out there for this coming tour.”

  She droned on for a while, outlining their promo and marketing strategy for our tour and album. I couldn’t focus on what she was saying; instead, my eyes were drawn to her full lips, triggering memories of the last kiss we shared before she darted away from me into the night. I warred between anger and lust as I watched her, irritated at the way we left things but unable to reconcile the pull I felt towards her. Natalie’s eyes roamed around the room, landing everywhere but on mine. It was blatantly obvious she was trying to avoid looking at me, and I wondered how we would be able to pretend like this was the first time we met.

  While I was supposed to be listening to the proposal, I was wracking my brain trying to remember when Todd mentioned using Livingston PR for our new publicists but I couldn’t pinpoint when he told me. In his defense, I spent a lot of the time on the road drowning my rejection with alcohol, and was likely drunk when he told me. Not a great coping mechanism but the one I chose nonetheless.